Founders Four: Pillars of the Ages
by shadowkat678
Summary: History speaks to us of four friends, of a school they together founded, and of a division that still echoes through the stone halls of Hogwarts today. Yet, that great castle was never truly the beginning. No, it started long before that. Prepare yourselves...the Founders are coming.
1. Ch1: The Beginning

**o~O~"The Beginning"~O~o**

**By:Shadowkat**

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**Disclaimer: I'm only putting it here once. I'm obviously not J.K. Rowling, or I'd be getting paid for this with more than ego inflation.**

**Edit: I was just notified that this was updated, and I only thought it did that when it added a new chapter. I took down a chapter because I'm redoing this and have just started work on chapter three, switching up my plan. So feel free to read if you want, but nothing new is here yet. Also. Sorry for it being dead for so long. I've had major esteem issues, and it's affected my writing a lot.**

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Long ago, there lived four of the greatest witches and wizards of their age: brave Godric Gryffindor from Wild Moor, wise Rowena Ravenclaw from Glen, kind Helga Hufflepuff from Valley Broad, and cunning Salazar Slytherin from Fen.

Together, as you know, they founded one of the most prestigious magical schools in history: Hogwarts. Yet that's only one part of a far larger story. Be warned, dear readers, for I cannot promise a happy tale. Only a true one. With that warning firmly in mind, let us start.

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The day with which we begin was a pleasant one. Air blowing warm and gentle as the sun shone high in a blue summer sky. Birds chirped in the trees as laughing children chased each other around the village square. Yet, there was one who would not be seen with the rest.

Salazar, a young man of fourteen, could be found in his normal hideaway that fine afternoon. Far from the laughter of others and sitting quite contentedly up in an oak with head trapped firmly and predictably in a book. A peaceful scene...for the moment.

_"Salazar Slytherin!"_

At the sudden shout, the young man started, saving himself just a split second before falling from the nook he'd wedged himself into. His book, however, wasn't near as lucky.

With a slight scowl, Salazar glanced down to see his mother, Amara, picking up the leather-bound tome. Wisps of chestnut hair had escaped the bun she'd trapped them into, and her grey eyes were tired, the heavy bags making her look far older than her thirty-five years. Yet, as she raised her face to look at him, he saw that she was smiling, and his scowl lessened. If only just a bit.

"Reading out in the woods again, I see," she said, then shook her head and smiled. "It must be good. I called up three times before you'd take your eyes of the thing."

Salazar merely shrugged and muttered a quick _"Well you didn't have to yell,_" before beginning the climb down, jumping the last few feet and bending his legs to absorb the impact as he hit the grassy ground. Amara smiled as he took back his book, and Salazar frowned, cocking an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing," she answered, though the grin was still there. "I was just thinking how like your father you are." Amara reached out to ruffle his hair and bit back a laugh as he hurriedly shook her off.

And he really was, she thought. The same calculating eyes, the sharp face and dark hair, their dry wit and thin frame...and the identically infuriating habit of acting far more serious than they should.

Amara inclined her head towards the general direction of their cottage.

"Come on. There are things I'd still like help with before nightfall. You won't duck out of chores that easily."

As she turned and started back, Salazar nodded, contenting himself to follow without reply. It was just another day. Like yesterday, all the days before, and many others to come. That's just how it was, and it wouldn't change anytime soon.

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Godric let his gaze wander around the crowded streets, fully aware that he probably looked as lost as he was. Though in his own defense, it wasn't as if he'd been there long enough to know where everything was, and he certainly wasn't seeing any signs to help him along.

After a hard two weeks ride, including about a dozen instances of backtracking and multiple moments contemplating how badly someone could mess up a map, it was a welcome relief when he finally spotted the town's dark clouds of chimney smoke rising over forest and hills in the distance. Approximately an hour thereafter he rode into the small village of Florin, leaving his horse with a weary looking stable boy and spending quite a bit more coin than he liked before their short conversation was done. So now he arrived, and with absolutely no clue where he was headed.

Godric looked around once more, hoping to spot someone he might ask for directions, but anyone else who might have known who he was looking for, or at the very least where he could start his search, were lost in their own business as they jostled each other about in the daily rush of the market place. Sighing, Godric picked a random direction and started his search.

It didn't matter much anyway, he supposed. Asking around wasn't a good idea for a stranger in a new town to do nowadays. Even with the guise of a common traveler, Godric already received more than his fair share of suspicious glances. Times were changing quickly, and it didn't take much to draw unwanted attention. He could only imagine the reaction if they caught him walking around with a wand instead of his sword.

Smiling grimly to himself, he kept walking, once dogging a group of children playing chase. At this point he half convinced he'd ridden all those miles just to turn around and leave. After all, his old mentor could have moved a dozen times over since his informant had last seen him. Would he even recognize the man? Godric had been fifteen the last time he saw him, and that was ten years ago. Needless to say, his mood was quickly turning dark.  
_  
'Blast Corial and his vague instructions. "Clear as water," he said. "Can't go wrong." he said. Master mapmaker my backside.'_

Suddenly, Godric slowed to a stop. Swinging in the light breeze above him was a worn looking sign with a scroll chiseled into its surface. Godric chuckled to himself as he strode inside, a bell chiming softly as the door swung open. If anyone knew his mentor, the owner of this shop would be a good first lead.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold he was instantly assaulted by the scent of musty paper and dust, and a strange sense of comfort washed over him. Memories of long nights and lessons rose in his mind, a candlelit cabin, and more than a few headaches. His lips twitched upwards. Those certainly weren't memories he'd ever imagined thinking fondly of.

As the door shut behind him and he rounded a large shelf of merchandise, Godric's steps faltered. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but what he was seeing wasn't it. Two men stood in front of him, neither seeming to have noticed his entry, and one was exactly who he'd been looking for.

Ingvar Slytherin stood calmly with arms crossed and pale face expressionless as a man at least a head taller glowered down at him. The stranger couldn't be much older than Godric himself, maybe thirty at the most, with a head of dark blond hair tied neatly back by a strip of leather. Judging by his clothes, he wasn't a farmer or any lower status. The narrowed grey eyes, the aggressive stance, the air of superiority. Within seconds a picture was formed in his mind, and what it came together as wasn't something Godric particularly liked. He doubted the man came for an afternoon chat.

"-be careful about throwing threats at my family, Marcus. Only a fool would bring themselves to that low a level, and there's only one fool I can find here." Ingvar smiled coldly. "Now, for the last time, leave my shop."

The man's face flushed, and Ingvar leaned back on the counter with that same expression, halfway between uncaring and cold, plastered on his face. Marcus shot a furious look at the shopkeeper, and in that moment, it seemed he was about to throttle the older man. Whether this was because of embarrassment, anger, or a mix of both, even as the teller of this tale, I cannot say.

"Have it your way, but don't think for a moment this entire town isn't aware that there's something foul about you and your family. I have eyes here, and rumors spread quickly. Remember that, old fool."

That said, or more accurately snarled, the stranger spun on his heel, storming past Godric and out of the shop. The noise of the outside streets momentarily filtered in, then the door closed and all was returned to a muffled silence once more.

As the seconds dragged by, Godric finally turned from the door to see a set of dark eyes casually watching him.

"Well, isn't this a surprise. It's been a while. You look taller than I remember."

Ingvar stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back as dust swirled in the space between them. The old snake was still smiling, but this one wasn't cold, and there was a spark in his eye the younger man hadn't seen in years.

A sudden feeling of nostalgia bubbled up within Godric, and it was almost as if those ten years had never passed between them, the wall of time melting away. It was so rare to see such honest casualness in a man like him, and the young wizard almost hated to ruin it. He smiled.

Almost.

"It really has been a while, but whoever that man was, he did have one thing right." Godric shot him a boyish grin and laughed at Ingvar's puzzled expression. "You really are looking quite old!"

The smile on Ingvar's face vanished instantly, but Godric's only widened.

Just in the nick of time, he spotted the warning gleam in Ingvar's eyes and dropped to the floor, grunting as he landed and his sword sheath dug painfully into his leg. Not even half a second later, a thick book shoot like an arrow through the space his head had been, and a resounding thud echoed through the shop.

Hearing footsteps, Godric turned awkwardly on his back, going cross eyed as he stared down the length of a slender wand. Ash with a core of unicorn hair, twelve inches if he remembered correctly. It was always funny what thoughts arise at the strangest of moments.

Despite his current position, he knew that even old Slytherin could only hold back a smile for so long. Experience held true.

" You still need to work on timing, and that dodge was incredibly sloppy. I'm going to have to have a word with whoever took on training you." Godric rolled his eyes in response as Ingvar lowered his wand and slipped it back into a concealed pocket within his sleeve, holding out a hand to help pull his former pupil to his feet. "You always did say the most foolish things, boy. At least that hasn't seemed to have changed. Out of all your antics, that might have been the most annoying by far."

"To you, maybe," he countered. "But there have been quite a few others that called it endearing. I myself tend to consider it a compliment." Ingvar scowled, but Godric saw the small twinkle in his eyes.

Sometimes, he thought, you just couldn't resist poking at a coiled snake. Even if said snake had a famous temper.

"I'm afraid that those young girls you were so fond of showing off to don't count. They would have called anything you did endearing...no matter how idiotic."

At that, even Ingvar couldn't hold back a smile, and it really was as if he'd never left. After all that had happened it felt good to be back.

Yet inside, a cold hand tightened around his chest. If only he was just there for a casual reunion, but dark times brought even darker news. Godric couldn't delude himself of that. However, maybe he could imagine, until tomorrow night at the latest.

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**For those who look at reviews, there had been a chapter three. Took it down a while ago. Vastly different. I think my new plan is will likely be better in the long run.**

**A/N: ****Since there is an astonishing lack of stories for these characters, which there'd be neither Hogwarts nor a fandom without, I'm taking charge of uncovering their history myself. I promise that not a single chapter will be put up without an extensive amount of editing.**

**Also, I'm aware about the not having books thing, but it's a bit too late to change that, so I'll call on the creative liberties card just this once**. **After all, I can't be the only one who's ever read a published story in this time period containing books. If you see any inconsistencies or breeches in logic, history, what have you, click on Bob the review button and let me know! And yes, Helga and Rowena will come in. Maybe around chapter four or five?**

**I also want to thank looneylizzie on HPFF and WrenWinterSong on Mugglenet Fanfiction** **for being awesome betas. :)**


	2. Ch2: Every Beginning is an End

**"Beginning of the End"**

**By: Shadowkat**

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**A/N: Thank you for all this support! I don't think I've ever had a reaction like this. I'll be answering a review or two at the bottom. Can't do all of them though.**

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Two days later and Godric still hadn't broached the subject he'd originally come to discuss. It wasn't that he was putting it off, per se. Just that there never seemed to be a good enough time to bring it up.

The red-headed wizard could be seen lying back lazily against a tree, his gaze resting thoughtfully on the small Slytherin cabin as he absentmindedly twirled a blade of grass between his fingers. Godric smiled, remembering the moment he'd walked in two nights earlier. It had been like stepping back in time, as if he were seven again, a young boy looking around as if the simple home had been a castle.

Godric had forgotten how good it felt to come in to the sight of Ingvar's collection of books, gathered over the years from who knows where, stacked haphazardly around the main room. He'd forgotten how peaceful the mixture of herbs and spices that Amara collected every morning smelled, wafting through the air as they hung down from the low ceiling rafters by the hearth. Yes, it seemed that he'd forgotten a lot of things. The cottage may not have been the one he'd shared with the small family ten years before, or even within miles of the same town, but it still felt the same. Comforting and familiar. Like home.

"Daydreaming again? If you're not careful, you might very well be caught by surprise one day. I imagine finding a dagger in your back wouldn't be all that pleasant."

Godric looked up and chuckled, watching as Ingvar strolled calmly across the grassy yard before coming to a stop in front of him. For a moment, the young man thought how strange it was to have to crane his neck up in this position. Normally he have to look down.

"Just...remembering things, I suppose." He shrugged, shooting off a boyish grin. "Like you always used to knock me upside the head. Now do you mind? You're blocking my view."

Shaking his head, the older man complied, groaning as he sank down to the grass next to his old student. "Half the time you deserved it. It was your own fault."

"Maybe, but the other half I think you just liked smacking me around because you could," Godric shot back, and Ingvar gave him a wan smile.

"Point taken. I do admit, it was certainly fun at times."

Locking his hands behind his head, Godric leaned back with a yawn and watched as a hawk circled rhythmically overhead, sunlight glistening off its tan feathers.

"Damn," he murmured, yawning again and half closing his eyelids. "It's days like this I wish there were more of. So, I've mean meaning to ask. Who that half-wit was raging about the other day? Seemed as friendly as a rampant troll, and just about as dumb as one, too."

Ingvar's lips pressed together in a thin line as he thought over his answer.

"A tax collector positioned over by a local boron," he replied flatly. "And also one of the biggest fools I've ever had the displeasure to meet."

Godric rolled his eyes, smirking as he remembered another small town tax collector he'd once met. The man had been a leech. Maybe, he mused, they simply came like that. He also highly doubted Ingvar's description matched what he really wanted to say, something that would likely be much more...colorful.

"I like the sound of him less and less."

"Indeed," Ingvar agreed. "For the past few years, Marcus has been threatening extra money out of the shopkeepers, and hardly anyone's tried to stop him. Let alone grow enough spine to stand up for themselves."

"Except for you, of course?"

His old mentor gave a single small nod. "Except for me, and I've been stuck cleaning up plenty of his "accidents" as a result." Ingvar sighed, rubbing his head as if he had a migraine. "Marcus is nothing but a power hungry fool, bribing and cheating to get what he wants. Now he's after me, all because I won't be cowed enough to run off and hide at the mere mention of his blasted name."

Godric snorted.

"A very unwise choice on his part. The last man I saw threatening Ingvar Slytherin ended up hanging upside down from a tree. If I recall, it was five hours before anyone cared enough to cut him down. Admittedly, you were younger in those days." Then his grin vanished and he shot a look at the older man, worry darkening his face. "Do you think he's onto you?"

"Perhaps," was the simple reply. "Only time will tell."

"Yet you tried that little trick with the book back at the shop," Godric pointed out, and Ingvar waved his hands dismissively.

"I had a charm placed around the store. No one was within range to see through the windows."

Godric shook his head in disbelief and grinned. He should have known he'd pull something like that.

"Now, I think it's my turn to ask a question." Here his eyes searched Godric's face, and the younger man's grin vanished. "Godric, why did you came back? If I remember correctly, didn't you leave so you could do more than 'sit on your backside' as you put it?"

"Always to the point." Godric sighed and sat back up. "I was really hoping for another day or two before bringing all this up."

Pursing his lips, Godric pulled out a crumpled letter from his pocket and wearily handed it over, waiting in tense silence as Ingvar's eyes scanned over the wrinkled parchment. Disappointment rose in his chest as the older man shook his head, folded up the letter, and sat it gently on the ground.

"You already know my answer to this. There's just too much to lose. You knew when you left, and it hasn't changed. I'm sorry." He reached out a hand to put on Godric's shoulder and was halfheartedly shaken off.

A prick of guilt stabbed at Godric as he saw Ingvar's pained expression, but he shoved it down. He had known it wouldn't work, told everyone that himself, but it didn't make it any easier. Any hope he had was steadily dwindling. Gaze drifting to the discarded piece of parchment on the ground, he picked it up and stashed it back in his pocket, a spark of old bitterness rising again in his chest.

"There's no waiting this out," Godric said. "You know that. What's happening out there won't end without someone there to stop it. It's coming, and things are only getting worse. I've seen it. There are other people, others with families, children being killed because of something others don't want to understand. You could help us."

Ingvar shook his head. "I've watched some of my best friends die trying to play the hero. I can't risk my family too. Stay as long as you like, but my answer will not change."

Godric nodded, looking at the cottage with sad eyes and thinking of what brought him back, of the family that took him in so long ago. Then he lifted those same green eyes to his teacher, their normally humorous sparkle gone somewhere far away. All he saw was a man that was too tired, too worn down by time and hardship. When he was younger, that same man had always seemed so invincible. Yet now, Godric was realizing, he was only human, just like everyone else.

"I'll stay until next week. That's when Salazar's fifteenth birthday is, right?" Ingvar nodded slowly, starting to speak, but stopped when Godric shook his head.

"You know, there was something you told me once. I was only seven, but I still haven't forgotten. We all lose things, but when you give up you only lose more. Why did I come back?" Shaking his head, Godric rose, but he stopped and looked back once more, another sad smile finding its way to his lips. "Maybe I hoped you might take your own advice. Sometimes I wonder if you ever considered that boy you saved so many years ago worth the price paid that day. Maybe you have forgotten what you told me, but I was hoping..." He trailed off, biting his lip.

Leaves rustled overhead, casting shifting shadows on the ground. It was so peaceful in the little clearing, but how long could it stay that way? How long could they isolate themselves before they were pulled into the fight? However he tried, there wasn't any changing Ingvar's mind. It was too late for that.

"Whatever it was I was hoping I guess I was wrong."

Before there was a chance to respond, Godric walked away, leaving Ingvar to watch his retreating form in silence.

* * *

With a soft click, Ingvar locked the shop door and looped the key and leather cord back around his neck, tucking it into place under his tunic where cold metal chilled skin.

By this time, night had fallen upon the small town, moonlight transforming the cobblestone streets and empty shops into a different world beneath its silvery glow. Above, stars dusted the sky with constellations and he spotted his favorite, Pegasus, soaring gracefully through the heavens. For as long as his memory went the darker hours had always remained his favorite. Gone were the people, jostling each other about in their mad rush, and the hectic tangle of voices crashing over each other faded far away. It was a time of peace, of reflection, and a time he sorely needed. So, as he walked back through the dense forest and towards his home, he thought and he reflected.

He was far too proud to admit just how much the lad's words had affected him. Pride, after all, had always been his weakness, as it likely always would be. As much as he mocked Marcus and others like him for their faults he'd always been stuck with plenty of his own. Yet unlike others, he kept his emotions safely hidden from those outside a small circle, locked behind an outwardly cold exterior. He wouldn't rage about, flaunting whatever superior feelings he may have. No, his was a different kind of pride, but just as dangerous. Perhaps that was another reason why he'd always felt an attraction to the night. It hid things for him, and even allowing his emotions to show, there was no one else who could see.

Grey streaks in black hair shone under moonlight as he walked beneath the trees as yet another sign of his nearly forty-seven years. He continued on, hardly noticing his surroundings as his feet were left to navigate the well-worn path by memory.

How could he possibly explain to the boy how much it had hurt, watching from a distance as Godric rode away, knowing the dangers and the possibility that, logically, he might never come back? Even after the previous day there was still so much left unspoken. He'd wondered countless times throughout the following years about those odds. Wondering if the boy was even still alive. How could he ever convey such a feeling?

Fifteen minutes later he walked up creaky front steps and reached the door to the cabin, its rusty hinges groaning quietly as he eased it open. Stepping inside, Ingvar began slowly navigating the clutter with a familiar ease, but midway across he hesitated.

On a bedroll near the fireplace lay Godric, sprawled out on his side as his stocky body rose and fell in the slow rhythm of sleep. The young man shifted, muttering something unintelligible, before rolling over. Memories sprang up in his mind, and Ingvar had to resist the temptation to walk over and brush back the hair that had fallen in his face. He wasn't a child. Not anymore. Godric could face his demons alone now. There was nothing left to give him. Godric was a man now. Not a boy.

With a sad smile, Ingvar turned and walked into the larger of the two bedrooms, slipping quietly down to lay beside his sleeping wife and thinking of what was going to be. Just three weeks ago, Amara had come to him and voiced the suspicion that she might be pregnant, and the way she'd been getting sick lately only reinforced their wondering. Ingvar still wasn't sure if he should share the information with his former apprentice or not. After all, there wasn't anything to gain by it. If anything it would only cause more tension between them.

He looked at her soft face, peaceful in sleep, and wondered how he ever managed to be so fortunate. She was so different from himself, so full of life, and yet she chose him. How could he ever risk leaving that, knowing she, their unborn child, and Salazar would be left alone if something were to happen? Regardless of what many might have thought, there was still one small spot in his life he couldn't remain cold to. The boy couldn't fully understand that feeling, not just yet. There were still so many things he still needed to learn, things he had to find out for himself. No amount of teaching on his part, training or lessons, could help. Ingvar could only hope that Godric wouldn't need to learn the harsher parts anytime soon, for his own sake.

An hour later, he finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

"Are you sure you should be doing this?"

Amara breathed in the scent of wet earth as she walked through the dew covered underbrush, Salazar lagging a few paces behind. There was nothing like the smell of the forest after a summer night's rain.

The woman smiled and rolled her eyes. "You worry too much, Salazar. Really, I'm not that far along. If I need help I can always make you do the work." She stooped down to pluck a mint leaf, then suddenly recoiled, clutching her arm as she fell back with a startled cry.

Salazar's eyes widened and he called out, rushing forward, but then froze a few feet away from her. In the space between mother and son a snake was coiled, its dark green scales blending almost perfectly with the long grass and weeds that grew around it. It raised its head, fangs bared as it let out a long, low hiss.

Salazar walked forward slowly, cautiously, never letting his dark eyes leave the yellow ones that had quickly turned his way. His sharp face was blank as a low hissing sound slipped from his mouth. The snake responded, seemingly surprised, if it were possible for a snake to be surprised. Suddenly, the reptile tilted its head and backed down, slithering away into the shadows of a hollow log and disappearing from sight.

Salazar kneeled down beside his mother, calmly inspecting the wound. "She had eggs, and you were coming too close. That's why she struck out at you." Amara winced as she looked at the marks on her arm, a few drops of blood running down her hand and dripping to the forest floor, staining a patch of moss with crimson specks.

"Was she..."

Salazar shook his head, pushing back a strand of long, inky hair from his eyes. He ripped off a piece of his sleeve and wrapped it around his mother's arm, who gasped in pain as the cloth came in contact with her punctured skin.

"No," he reassured her. "She wasn't, which can be both good and bad. A non-poisonous snake's bite is more painful and violent than a poisonous one, and it's also more easily infected. We need this cleaned soon, and I can't do that here. We can-" Salazar cut off mid-sentence as he heard a rustle from a nearby clump of bushes, glancing up just in time to see a blurred dark shape dart quickly away. For a reason he couldn't explain, a cold feeling rose inside his chest at the sight.

"Did you-"

"Yes," she confirmed, nodding. His mother bit her lip but sent him a reassuring smile. "It was probably only a deer. Help me up, and we'll head back." Salazar complied, shooting one last glance over his shoulder before carefully pulling his mother to her feet, avoiding her wound, and walking back towards their home. Even with his mother's reassurance, Salazar couldn't believe whatever was in the bushes was a deer. He knew what that animal looked like.

And if it had been, it certainly wasn't any kind he'd ever seen.

* * *

The day of Salazar's birthday came and went quickly. It wasn't a big affair, just a slightly larger than normal dinner with two presents: a new book and the handing down of the Slytherin family locket. It was late into the night, crickets chirping softly outside and the last of the candles long since extinguished, when the first sign of trouble presented itself.

Salazar woke at the sound of a loud crash. Seconds later he let out a muffled scream, feeling large, callused hands clamp down roughly over his mouth, their filthy smell filling his nostrils and making him gag. He tried to struggle against the grip, but it only tightened, and he felt something hit him hard on the back of his head. A man's voice shouted something, but he was too disoriented to understand the words. Adrenaline coursed through him, and his heart beat wildly in his chest. Everything was a blur, and time seemed to be moving in slow motion.

Salazar felt himself being dragged through the house, pain shooting through him each time he bumped into books and objects he was carelessly run into. Then, after what felt like eternity, air hit him cold in the face as they burst out the front door and he was tossed on the ground, rolling as he hit the wet grass.

Through the haze, he registered someone pulling him close, and looked up to see his mother, her grey eyes panicked as he'd never seen them. Only once had he seen her anywhere close to this frightened, years ago when he was younger and very sick.

This was far worse.

A few feet away, Ingvar was out cold, a dark, purplish bruise already blossoming angrily across his temple. Feeling something hot and sticky running down his forehead, Salazar brought his hand up, and when he pulled it away, his fingers were coated crimson.

Something was thrown down in front of him, and his vision cleared just enough to realize what it was: three wands, each snapped cleanly in half. He heard laughing, shouts, felt pain as someone threw a rock at him. Everything rushed back into focus, his head spinning as his brain attempted to decipher what he was seeing. Salazar started shaking, everything falling into place. They'd seen him talk to the snake, that was how they knew, that was why they were here. It hadn't been an animal in the bushes. They must've seen everything. They were going to die, and it was all his fault.

All his usual control and rationality fell away, and for the first time since he was nine years old, he felt hot, silent tears begin to fall down his face.

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**A/N: I don't think this is my best, but I thought I had to get something up, let everyone know I was still alive and going with this. I tried uploading before, but there were...complications. I previously had a writing rampage, editing every bit of it. Problem was, stupid me forgot to save...but now it's here, so problem solved.**

**Till next time, I guess? Thanks again to the amazing looneylizzie on HPFF and WrenWinterSong on MuggleNet Fanfiction for being wonderful betas!**

**camillablue:** **Yeah, I kinda started this off as a whim, and didn't realize until afterwards that Salazar was supposed to be the older one. However, since it never said in the books and I didn't find this out until I got Pottermore...we're just gonna overlook that bit.**

**David-El:** **Hopefully in an interesting way. You know, Morgan was also one of his students...I've actually thought up a whole different story for that bit...**

**GailyGail**: **Good. That's what I was going for. The stereotypes make them seem so 2D to me, and I hate that because their stories have the capability to make such complex people and lives. I really want to show that.**


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